Read The Truth About Lord Stoneville for Free Online

eye of a man long used to undressing women. Beneath the heavy fabric of her redingote, she clearly had a body made for seduction, too, with lush hips and lusher breasts. Exactly his sort.
    Hmmm . . .
    Perhaps he could use this situation to his advantage. He’d had little luck this week in finding a whore acceptable enough to further his plan.
    He turned to Porter and Tate. “Release the lad, and leave us.”
    “Now see here, my lord, I don’t think—” Porter began.
    “They’ll get their just deserts,” Oliver asserted. “You won’t have cause for complaint.”
    “And what about my satchel?” Tate pressed.
    “ Your satchel!” Miss Butterfield shot to her feet. “How dare—”
    “Sit down, Miss Butterfield,” Oliver ordered with a stern glance. “If I were you, I’d hold my tongue just now.”
    She colored, but did as he commanded.
    Oliver tossed the satchel to Tate. “Take it and go. I’ll let you know my decision about these two shortly.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the American woman bristle, but she remained silent until the two men had gone, closing the door behind them.
    Then she exploded out of the chair to glare at him. “That satchel belongs to my fiancé, and you know it! Mr. Tate clearly stole—”
    “I’ve been acquainted with Tate for years, madam. He has his faults, but he’s no thief. If he said he bought it at a pawnshop, odds are that he did.”
    “You would take his word over the word of a lady?”
    “A lady. Is that what you are?” He cast her a dismissive glance as he buttoned up his shirt. “You vault into a brothel with only this unlicked cub for a protector. You hold a sword to my throat and attempt to extract him from the place by force. And you expect me to accept your word about the situation simply because you’re female?” He gestured at the hapless Freddy, who stood frozen in terror. “You must think me as stupid as your ‘cousin’ there.”
    She marched up to him, hands on her hips. “Stop sneering the word ‘cousin.’ Freddy is not some accomplice in crime.”
    “Then why is he with you, instead of your supposed fiancé?”
    “My fiancé is missing!” She took a steadying breath. “His name is Nathan Hyatt, and he’s my father’s business partner. We came to London to find him. Papa died after Nathan left, so he needs to return home and run New Bedford Ships. I wrote him several letters, but he hasn’t answered in months. I recognized his satchel when I saw your friend carrying it near where Nathan was last seen, and we followed him, hoping he might lead us to Nathan.”
    “Ah.” He strolled to where his cravat lay draped over a chair, then knotted it about his neck. “And I’m supposed to believe this Banbury tale because . . .”
    “Because it’s true! Ask the people at London Maritime! Nathan came here four months ago to negotiate with them for some ships, but they said that after negotiations fell through within a month, he left there and hasn’t been seen since. They assumed he’d gone back to America. And the owner of the boardinghouse where he’d been staying said much the same.”
    She paced the room in clear agitation. “But there’s no record of him traveling on a company ship. Worse yet, the boardinghouse owner still has all my letters—unopened.”
    Whirling around, she cast him a concerned glance. “Something dreadful has happened to him, and your friend likely knows it. Nathan would never pawn that satchel. I gave it to him for Christmas—he wouldn’t have parted with it!”
    Her distress was quite convincing. He’d lived in or near London all his life and had seen sharpers and schemers by the score. They could never quite hide the hardness beneath the smooth surface of their roles. Whereas she . . .
    His gaze took in her agitated breaths, her worried expression. She seemed an innocent in every sense of the word. One advantage to having a black heart was that he could spot an innocent from a